Page 129 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘I beg your pardon?’

She sped up, almost tripping over Reeves, and startling him into knocking over his tray of glasses.

‘I’m sorry!’ she said, skittering backwards.

‘My lady?’ Reeves said. ‘Are you well?’

‘I …’ Lydia began.

‘Miss Hanworth?’ He frowned in sudden recognition. ‘What is …?’

‘I cannot stop,’ she said, picking up her skirts to avoid the glass. ‘It is Lady Phoebe – she needs my help!’

She pictured Waldo’s bulk bearing down upon Lady Phoebe with all the violence he had shown against that poor horse only a day before, as intractable and unstoppable as the tide. What help would she even be?

‘Reeves, you must fetch Dacre,’ she told him urgently. ‘Please, fetch Dacre to the stable yard – he might be the only one who can stop him!’

And then she was running through the entrance hall and dashing down the front steps. Behind her, she could hear the echo of people calling her name – Phoebe’s name – but she ignored them. In the distance, she could see the Henley carriage almost at the gates, but it had checked, the groom pausing the horses – for Sir Waldo was running after it, waving his arms and bellowing his wife’s name.

‘Stop!’ Sir Waldo was shouting, and as he reached the carriage, he pulled open the door and thrust an arm inside.

‘Waldo,’ Lady Phoebe said, her voice high and nervous carrying back to Lydia, still yards away. ‘I was just – I was—’

But he was not listening, jerking her forcibly from the carriage.

‘Unhand her!’ Lydia tried to call, but she was panting too hard to get the words out.

‘What the blazes are you doing, Phoebe?’ Sir Waldo was pulling his wife down the carriage steps. ‘You foolish, foolish girl. How dare you.’

He began shaking her furiously, his face red with rage, Lady Phoebe’s neck flying this way and that in his hold. Finally, Lydia reached them and seized one of Waldo’s arms, but he shook her off easily.

‘Stop! Stop!’

Behind her, more voices were clamouring, but she could not pay attention. With fumbling hands, she extracted her grandmother’s pin from the cuff of her puffed sleeve and darted forward again, jabbing every part of Waldo she could reach. Against his bulk, however, she was as a fly bothering a great horse. She could not even tell if he noticed her. But then, from within the carriage, Elspeth tumbled out to assist. She seized the groom’s whip from where he stood helplessly, unsure whether to protect his master or his mistress, and in one swift move laid a great thwacking blow across Waldo’s back.

That he did appear to notice, giving a howl of pain and letting go of Lady Phoebe for a brief moment.

Lady Phoebe, dazed but still standing, took her reticule from where it hung on her arm and threw it with all her might towards his head. Her aim was true – lawn billiards had its uses – and from the way it clunked as it hit Waldo upon the head, there were heavy coins within. Sir Waldo barely flinched. It was only a moment before he was advancing again, pushing Lydia aside, seizing Elspeth’s whip to toss it away and bear down upon Lady Phoebe, murder in his eyes. Lydia and Elspeth grasped at his arms once more – but this time they were not alone.

There was the sound of running footsteps and then suddenly more hands were joining theirs. Together they wrenched Sir Waldo away from Lady Phoebe with such force that he stumbled and landed in the dust, and Ashford, Dacre and Pip stood there, panting. Behind them, more footsteps as Reeves, Hesse and Ladies Morton and Hesse hastened their way.

‘How dare you!’ Sir Waldo was spluttering, raising himself onto one knee. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

‘Quiet!’ Ashford snapped, pushing him down again. ‘Phoebe – how are you?’

‘What on earth is going on?’ Dacre demanded. ‘Waldo – what are you doing?’

He reached out a hand to grasp Waldo’s arm, whether to raise him up or keep him down, Lydia didn’t know, but Waldo threw it away.

‘Don’t touch me!’ he spat. ‘No one touch me.’

‘How are you, Phoebe?’ Ashford asked again.

She nodded rather breathlessly. ‘I am well.’

‘What is going on?’ Lady Hesse demanded. ‘Sir Waldo, I cannot believe your behaviour.’

‘My behaviour!’ Sir Waldo said incredulously, raising himself to his feet. ‘This is a private matter, between me and my wife – I have been attacked, in my own home, by these madwomen!’